blooming loudly

I miss writing. Recently, I was poring through the heart-scribbles of mine that became my healing after my dad's death. There is something so sacred to me about those entries, now held private on another blog. In many ways, writing has been the cathartic I have needed it to be in life's most difficult moments. 
One of my favorite authors describes one of his characters, an artist, as having the wires between his brain and his mouth mixed up so that they run through his fingers instead. I love that image, because in some ways I feel like that can be me too. What I can't say with my mouth, I can pour onto the page. What is a tangled jumble from my lips can be transformed into a surprisingly understandable paragraph on the page. 
I have taken a long sojourn from writing, mostly because I needed to remember THIS. I needed to remember the gift of writing, how God heals and grows and encourages my heart through the pen on the page. 
It's coming back to me, and on this slowly warming spring day, I am thankful. Thankful for the overflow of my heart, for His grace in the overflow, and for fingers tapping away at the keyboard. 
It feels good to be back.